


Prize Fighters

by honey_wheeler



Series: The Threesome in the North [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fighting As Foreplay, Group Marriage, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 03:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5612209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s magnificent, every inch the warrior Val first met all those years ago. He meets her more primitive swordplay with movements almost like poetry as his eyes flash and he bares his teeth at her in a feral grin, his irritation as forgotten as her own in the heat of battle. Val knows the feeling. Few things make her blood sing like a good fight, and Jon Snow is quite a good fight, both here and in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prize Fighters

It occurs to Val, as she rounds on Jon and swings her sparring sword at his head, that she can’t even remember what they were fighting about.

Oh, it was something aggravating, to be sure. Something frustratingly, fundamentally Jon Snow. He gets such ideas in his head sometimes, such kneeler notions. Whatever it was, it had made them argue until the great hall rang with their raised voices and Sansa pursed her lips in that prissy, enticing way of hers that always made Val want to kiss them into softness. She’s fought with Jon plenty before – and with Val herself a time or two, come to that – but where Val and Jon would increase in volume, Sansa would do the opposite, her words as stern and cold as winter itself. She’s never much liked their more vocal tendencies.

At least not when they’re fighting.

Sansa has come out to the yard to watch them now, as Val knew she would. She may have rolled her eyes when Val poked Jon in the chest and said, “Right, let’s have this out in the yard,” and again when Jon, somewhat bewildered, had agreed, but Val knew her curious streak would win out over disapproval. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest as she watches them spar, her face betraying no torn loyalty between the two of them. Good. Val likes the moments where Sansa can’t choose between them.

She also likes the way Jon looks when he fights.

He’s magnificent, every inch the warrior Val first met all those years ago. He meets her more primitive swordplay with movements almost like poetry as his eyes flash and he bares his teeth at her in a feral grin, his irritation as forgotten as her own in the heat of battle. Val knows the feeling. Few things make her blood sing like a good fight, and Jon Snow is quite a good fight, both here and in bed.

She can tell the moment his thoughts turn towards bedsport as well; his mouth softens and curls, his eyelids drop so that he looks at her through lashes thick enough to make the kitchen wenches weep with envy. Suddenly each thrust of his blunted metal sword brings him in close to her, their shoulders colliding, their chests meeting and pushing against each other in aggressive invitation. With each parry, his eyes drop to her mouth, his tongue darts out to trace his lower lip in unconscious suggestion.

The next time he gets in close, Val leans in and nips that lower lip, still wet from his tongue. She laughs and pushes him away when his eyes go wide and dark. His arm comes up instinctively when she swings again and their swords meet and slide with a dull grinding sound, like a blade being sharpened on a whetstone.

“Do you look at all your opponents like you can’t wait to fuck them?” she asks, panting as she grins, her breath clouding in the cold air. “Or am I just lucky?”

Jon laughs and then lunges, catching her smartly on her arse with the flat of his blade. “You’re impertinent, is what you are.”

“Maybe this explains why Mance liked you so much,” she trills in a high, innocent voice, dodging another smack on her bum and twisting to kick his own arse with one foot. Jon uses the opportunity to bring the hilt of his sword up and knock hers from her hand, leaving her unarmed.

“Bastard,” she says on a laugh, her whole body alive and on fire and attuned to him. When he reaches out and snags the front of her jerkin, Val’s heart thumps painfully in her chest and between her legs. Even after all this time, he still makes her just as hot as he did the first time he touched her.

“Verifiably,” he says as he yanks her so close that their noses and chins collide as their swords had done before. Jon isn’t often given to such assertive displays, which only makes it all the more thrilling when they happen and makes Val more willing than usual to cede the initiative to him. He rewards her acquiescence with a blistering kiss, his hand still fisted in her jerkin to hold her as his sword hand wraps around her back, the pommel pressing into the small of her back.

His tongue is in her mouth instantly, no matter that they’d been fighting only a moment ago. Val sucks on it, tests it with her teeth, gives her own tongue in return with enthusiasm. His cock is as hard as steel against her hips and already the hand that had been holding her jerkin is opening over her breast to squeeze and possess. Gods, but the man is delightfully lusty. Val would push him to the ground and mount him like a prize stallion right now if it wouldn’t be so scandalizing to kneeler sensibilities.

Jon deepens his kiss, tilting his head to lick into her mouth with hot, wet strokes. She thinks he’s nearly as tempted as she to have her right here, and the idea of him tonguing her cunt the way he tongues her mouth, here in the yard where anyone might see – like proper Freefolk – has her dripping already. She’s about to do it anyway, push him down and shuck her breeches and straddle his face right here in the dirt, damn the consequences, but the delicate clearing of a throat yanks her back to propriety. Or at least as close to propriety as Val gets. Sansa is standing but an arm’s length away from them, her face an unreadable mask. Unreadable, that is, unless you know Sansa as well as Val does. She sees the pink tint climbing Sansa’s chest above the neckline of her gown, the way her throat works and her pupils widen. Her words break off when she speaks, rusty, so that she has to try again.

“If you two are quite done rutting in the yard like animals...” she says, as seemingly serene when discussing such things as only Sansa can be, the darling girl.

“We didn’t get that far,” Val interrupts, reaching out to finger the lock of hair curling over Sansa’s breast like a beckoning finger, “but give us a handful of moments…” She tugs and Sansa sways a tiny bit towards Val, her eyelids fluttering before she recovers herself.

“If you are quite done,” she repeats, as if Val hadn’t spoken, her voice rising almost imperceptibly, “I would like to see you both in my solar.” Jon stiffens slightly against Val, his sword arm falling away. But not, Val notes, the hand still on her tits.

“Are we in trouble?” he asks, sheepish and unsure. Sansa gives him a look as hot as the noonday sun during the height of summer and Jon relaxes instantly. He very nearly melts, softening everywhere but his cock, which is still hard and insistent where it’s pressed against Val.

“If you were, what would you do to apologize?” Sansa arches one delicate brow. Jon makes a low rumble deep in his chest, obviously imagining the possibilities, and the sound only grows deeper when Sansa steps forward and kisses him, hard, her tongue flashing pink between their mouths for a bare second. Val receives the same delicious treatment, and for a moment, she wonders how they look to anyone who might be watching, Jon and Val in each other’s arms, Sansa kissing each in turn, the three of them fully partnered to each other in every sense.

“My solar,” Sansa says when she’s pulled away. “Now.” Val’s cunt throbs at the promise in that one firm word. Sansa whirls and sweeps away like a grand lady, not looking to see if they follow her. As magnificent as Jon is when he fights, Sansa is equally so when she plays the imperious lady of the House, a role she was born play, and Val happily anticipates all that could happen in her solar this afternoon. She turns to Jon and grins at him with all the delight she feels.

“Our lady awaits,” she says.


End file.
